


Hell Hath No Fury

by inappropriatestarstable



Series: WWAU [1]
Category: Star Stable
Genre: I mean I don't exactly say she's underage but, WWAU, it's the wild west
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 15:15:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17409251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inappropriatestarstable/pseuds/inappropriatestarstable
Summary: ...like a mayor's wife scorned. Ariana’s origin story for the WWAU: how she met Lion, where she came from, how she ended up in New Jorvik.





	Hell Hath No Fury

It hadn’t seemed like a bad idea at the time. And it wasn’t her first time following an older man to his house, shedding her layers of skirts, and letting him have a ride in exchange for some coins. There were worse ways to feed herself, having no family to help her.

In hindsight, Ariana supposed she should have asked whether or not he was married, whether his wife owned a rifle, and whether he was the _mayor of the goddammned town_.

One moment she’d been listening to the squeak of the wooden bedposts, pretending to be enjoying herself but secretly eyeing the coin purse on the nearby dresser—and the next moment, she heard the sound of the front door opening and closing and a woman’s voice calling the man’s name.

They froze; the man’s face blanched under his well-trimmed moustache.

“Damn it all,” he choked as the sound of footsteps began approaching the room. “My wife.”

Ariana pushed her knee into his chest, rolling him off of her and spitting, “Your _wife_?”

“William? Is that you?” the woman called, sounding very close to the door. Ariana scrambled to find her dress and underthings while the man waved his hands helplessly.

“I didn’t think she’d come ho—”

The door opened. Ariana didn’t bother to get a proper look; as she yanked her dress over her head, she only saw a glimpse of an older woman wearing a horrified expression and holding a hunting rifle.

“I—I went to the well. I thought you weren’t home; I thought someone had broken in—”

“Now, Anna, darling, this ain’t what it looks l—”

“What the _devil_ — You—you _fiend_! You cheating, lying, _snake_!”

The man fell silent before his wife’s wrath. Having made herself decent, Ariana raised her hands.

“Ma’am, I didn’t know he was married, I swear, I wouldn’t’ve—”

“Married?” the woman shrieked, her face nearly purple with rage. “He’s the mayor of the city, you stupid little whore! Do you know what you’ve done—if anyone finds out—you’ll ruin everything!”

Ariana fell silent, terrified. The woman suddenly seemed to remember that she was holding the rifle; Ariana’s heart nearly stopped as it was suddenly pointed at her.

“Get out! Get the _hell_ out of my house!”

“I—I’m so sorry—”

“GET OUT!”

The rifle went off with a blast that nearly shook the house. The bullet lodged in the wall, and Ariana, realizing she hadn’t been hit, was spurred into motion.

She was vaguely aware that the mayor was yelling, that there was the sound of something breaking, and that the wife was shrieking, but she could only flee, the fabric of her dress tangling around her legs as her bare feet thudded down the wooden stairs as fast as she could make them go.

“ANNA, HAVE YOU GONE MAD?”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU GOD-DAMNED WHORE!”

The rifle fired again; Ariana reeled as the bullet shattered one of the front windows. Her fingers scrabbled desperately for the doorknob and she flung open the door to run into the yard. The horses in the mayor’s paddock, scared by the shots, had all taken off to the far side, but one terrified bay horse was tethered to the hitching post by his reins. He wore no saddle, and even his bridle was tearing loose in his panic; he was nearly sitting on his haunches in his fight to get away from the noise.

Another shot rang out, the bullet whizzing out the door into the yard, and Ariana ran for the horse. In a heartbeat she’d made up her mind—any danger would be preferable to a furious wife with a rifle.

The horse whinnied with renewed fear as she grabbed his mane in both hands and leaped onto his back; the rush of her flying skirts made him twist his head in fear and his bridle tore off completely. Ariana tangled her fingers in the long black mane, jammed her bare feet against his sides, and screamed, _“Run!”_

He ran.

A fourth shot rang out from the house, but in a heartbeat they were flying out of the yard, Ariana clinging on for dear life, the horse’s mane whipping her face as she pressed her legs to his sides. She didn’t care where the hell he took her, as long as she was out of the rifle’s range—and she had no hope of controlling a horse this panicked. She was vaguely aware that his terrified flight was taking them out of the city completely into the wide-open surrounding land, and that she was crying—or was it only the wind making her eyes water?

It seemed like miles passed under the horse’s hooves before his breathing became labored and his gait flagged. Little by little he dropped from a canter, to a trot, a walk—until he finally stopped, trembling, at the edge of a river.

Breathing heavily, Ariana looked around. She didn’t recognize the land; cottonwood trees spanned as far as she could see.

“Well,” she panted, “I’m alive.”

She forced her aching hands to release the horse’s mane and she let herself slide from his back. Her legs gave out as they hit the ground and she found herself sinking to her knees in the shallow waters. The cold hit her like a slap in the face, but she was forcefully reminded that she was alive.

The horse lowered his head to drink, and she took his example, cupping her hands and letting the river water flow into them. She drank her fill before rubbing her wet hands across her sweaty forehead. Her whole body ached.

The horse turned his head to look at her, water dripping from his muzzle. She lifted a hand to rub his nose.

“Hey, thanks, boy. You saved my ass.”

The horse blew out a tired breath. Ariana heaved herself out of the river, her skirts sopping wet and the stones sharp on her bare feet.

“Well, now what?” She thoughtfully rubbed her hand along the horse’s neck. “I can’t go back there.”

She’d left her bag containing her few possessions at the mayor’s house. They’d surely burn or sell everything, and she wasn’t going to get shot attempting to get them back.

“We must be halfway to the next town by now,” she mused, still petting the horse. “You’re fast, boy. You ran like you had a lion on your tail.”

The horse snorted, shaking his mane. He was a rather handsome horse, she thought, dark bay with a thick black mane and tail and a few white socks. He was all she had now, she supposed. The mayor could keep her possessions and the money he owed her; she’d keep the horse.

“Guess you’re mine now, boy.” The horse snuffled curiously at her; she smiled and slipped her hand under his forelock to rub his head, revealing a large white star. “What should I call you?”

As she petted him, a story came to mind. She hadn’t heard it in a long time, but it had once been her favorite: the story of Androcles and the lion. She could almost still hear her mother’s voice, hear the crackle of the fireplace. It seemed fitting, after all: the horse had saved her. Maybe someday she’d save him too.

“I think I’ll call you Lion.”

The horse eyed her skeptically, and she laughed. “Fine, then, how about Lionhunter. That’s a good, brave horse name. But I’ll call you Lion for short.”

The horse snorted, making her laugh again. For a moment, they just stood at the edge of the river in the cottonwood grove, listening to the birdsong in the trees, while she made up her mind.

She bounced on her bare foot and jumped onto his back. His ears flicked back towards her.

“Come on, boy,” she said. She gently put her heels to his sides. “Let’s go see what’s out there.”


End file.
